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“No. It’s intimate information that’s reserved for a lover or a boyfriend or a...”
With a groan, she closed her mouth. Why had he let her wrap herself around him like a clinging vine? Why not be cruel in action as with words and push her away? Then she wouldn’t feel this discombobulated around him.
She straightened her shorts and her satin top, which was so badly wrinkled that it looked like she’d writhed on the ground.
No, just in his lap, a wicked voice she’d thought she’d left behind piped up.
With the guise of fixing her hair, Yana tugged at the roots roughly, to restore a measure of sanity to herself. “Where’s my jacket?”
One long finger carefully held her unwrinkled pink jacket aloft. “You kept saying you were too hot.”
“You should’ve woken me up or pushed me aside.”
“You really think me an unfeeling beast.”
“Yes. And I’d like to keep thinking that.”
“And why is that?” The soft query came with a silky, but nonetheless dangerous, undertone.
Yana took the jacket from him and pushed her arms through the sleeves, ignoring him. Gathering the messy mass of her hair, she quickly braided it away from her face. Only when she felt a semblance of composure return to her did she turn to face him. “I’m sorry for—” she moved her hand between them, her cheeks heating up “—climbing all over you.”
He exhaled in a sibilant hiss, pressing his fingers to his temple. “It’s no big deal.”
“Itisa big deal. You’re my employer, and I’d like to keep those boundaries clear.”
A flicker of irritation danced in his eyes. “Pity you didn’t have that rule all those years ago, huh?”
And just like that, the truce that had lasted the whole flight fell apart. Grabbing his wrist, she pulled it up to thrust the platinum dial in his face. “Wow, you lasted a whole nine hours without insulting me. That’s got to be a record.”
His long fingers grabbed hers. “Wait, that’s not how I meant to say it.”
“Let me go, Nasir.”
“Not until you hear me out.”
Of course she knew who he was talking about—Gregor Ilyavich, a sixty-six-year-old infamous painter of celebrated nudes. When he’d approached Diana, who’d also been her manager and coach back then, about painting Yana nude, her mother had been ecstatic. Just as she’d guessed, his nude portraits of Yana had instantly shot her into a new stratosphere of fame. All the big designers had wanted her face on their brand, were willing to pay whatever she wanted.
But the true price for her starry fame had come later—when Gregor had made his move on her. Something Yana chose to believe to this day that Diana hadn’t known about. She herself had been a naive idiot who hadn’t seen the power play until it was too late.
Thank God the portraits were now out of circulation as a private collector had bought them for millions. Not that Yana hadn’t loved them. They had been gorgeous, otherworldly, elevating her to something more than the symmetry and perfection of her face and body. Gregor had pinpointed and then extrapolated things she’d chosen to hide from the world in those portraits—her insecurity and her vulnerability.
But the lurid gossip about her affair with Gregor, the over-the-top speculation thatshehad trapped him for his money, and her tattered reputation as some kind of backstabbing gold digger had left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Her justly deserved humiliation at Nasir’s hands two years prior and then the flaming mess that had been her association with Gregor had been enough to confirm her belief that she was never going to get it right with men. Just like Diana.
“Are you forever going to dig up skeletons from my past and dangle them in my face? Is that the plan for the next three months?” A scornful laugh escaped her. “Because we both know there’s enough material.”
“No. Of course not. I brought it up the wrong way. I just...”
“Just what, Nasir?”
“I introduced you to Gregor at that release party for my novel. I felt responsible.” A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Ifeelresponsible, to this day.”
Her righteous fury leeched out of her, leaving a void in its place. A void that would fill with dangerous things like hope if she wasn’t careful. And even with that warning, she couldn’t help but say, “What does that mean?”
“You were a very gullible twenty-one-year-old. He was notorious for charming and seducing women who were decades younger than him with the promise of fame and fortune. I was responsible for bringing you to his notice. For letting him enter your life. I hate that he...took advantage of you. That I didn’t protect you.”
“I was twenty-one. And Gregor coerced me in no way to pose for him. So there, I absolve you of all blame.” She raised her palms, forestalling the distressing topic.
